#Create an App like Uber

[zennaxxtech]

Embark on the journey of innovation by building your very own ride-hailing app like Uber! With the ever-growing demand for convenient transportation solutions, creating a platform that connects riders with drivers has never been more exciting. From streamlining the booking process to ensuring seamless payments, every aspect of your app plays a crucial role in delivering an exceptional user experience. To start, focus on understanding the needs of your target audience and the unique selling points that will set your app apart.

[emma-johns]

How to Create an App like Uber | The Ultimate Guide

A decade ago, it would have been unsettling to have a stranger pick you up from your door. But with apps like Uber and Lyft at our fingertips, life has become considerably simpler. How do you build an Uber-like app from scratch? We'll talk about the same in this article. https://jumpgrowth.com/how-to-create-an-app-like-uber/

[psshaw]

More than that, you’ve got to actually spend your time doing this stuff on the off chance that the algorithm picks it up and people care about what you have to say. You’ve got to spend your time doing this even though it’s corny and cringe and your friends from high school or college will probably laugh as you “try to become an influencer.” You’ve got to do it even when you feel like you have absolutely nothing to say, because the algorithm demands you post anyway. You have to do it even if you’re from a culture where doing any self-promotion is looked upon as inherently negative, or if you’re a woman for whom bragging carries an even greater social stigma than it already does. You’ve got to do it even though the coolest thing you can do is not have to. You’ve got to offer your content to the hellish, overstuffed, harassment-laden, uber-competitive attention economy because otherwise no one will know who you are. In a recent interview with the Guardian, the author Naomi Klein said the biggest change in the world since No Logo, her 1999 book on consumerism and inescapable branding, came out was that “neoliberalism has created so much precarity that the commodification of the self is now seen as the only route to any kind of economic security. Plus social media has given us the tools to market ourselves nonstop.”

Oh hell yes. An article that supports my half-joke that a corporate app's demand for constant self-promo is technically classist.

[simkoos]

╰┈➤ hot singles in your area 💘💌

⇢ caiphus buchanan, 25 - sweet, mysterious, ideal date consists of smoking a bowl, watching old-school horror movies and ordering snacks from uber eats at 2am

⇢ alexis oliver, 21 - 90's fashion aficionado, was told she looks like aaliyah once and won't let anyone forget about it smh. will probably swipe right on any guy with frosted tips

⇢ benson hedrick, 26 - works a boring 9-5, recently moved into a townhome in san sequoia and adopted a puppy but still feels a bit lonely

⇢ claire roberts, 27 - nepo baby, nursing student, always gets what she wants except a date to the bi-weekly galas...

⇢ daniel nevarez, 23 - made an account because a friend dared him to, has already gotten a few messages (mostly from women in their 40's but he's not complaining!)

⇢ julianna lin, 24 - party girl, probably the toxic one in relationships, prefers men up to 3x her age

⇢ noah palamo, 31 - originally from selvadorada but has recently relocated to brindleton bay. single and hating it. wants his future partner to love the outdoors as much as he does and won't mind living off the grid by the lake

⇢ rebecca noble, 26 - nursing student, dog mom, claire's quirky best friend. they also constantly match with each other on dating apps....

⇢ rosaura mendez, 34 - bartender, knows how to have a good time (iykyk). recently went through a messy break up with her ex-boyfriend, now wants to explore her options

⇢ avyaan parekh, 28 - professional dj from san myshuno, recently came out to his parents (who suggested he'd hop on one those dating apps to find true love. wish him luck!!)

⇢ theo stone, 36 - gym coach, health nut, wants someone to show him there's more to life than repetition, routine and choosing the right pre-workout

⇢ kendra jameson, 22 - 1st grade teacher's aide from oasis springs, kinda shy, has a crush on her mentor but knows it'll never work out so she created an account instead

⇢ kira travis, 26 - small jewelry business owner from willow creek, loves to travel, moves way too fast in relationships. once married a guy while on vacation in windenburg and got a divorce a week later. let's hope that never happens again!!

⇢ fred "manfredi valentino" valentine, 63 - owns 2 casinos in tartosa, 3 maseratis and a luxury penthouse but is pretty lonely since his wife unfortunately passed away. spends his free time going to yacht parties, gambling and spoiling his 8 grandchildren

⇢ kole fuller, 27 - in a band (guitarist and main vocalist), knows a lot of sims but doesn't have many friends outside of his bandmates and neighbors, would probably be the sweetest golden retriever boyfriend

[probablyasocialecologist]

After nearly 15 years, Uber claims it’s finally turned an annual profit. Between 2014 and 2023, the company set over $31 billion on fire in its quest to drive taxi companies out of business and build a global monopoly. It failed on both fronts, but in the meantime it built an organization that can wield significant power over transportation — and that’s exactly how it got to last week’s milestone. Uber turned a net profit of nearly $1.9 billion in 2023, but what few of the headlines will tell you is that over $1.6 billion of it came from unrealized gains from its holdings in companies like Aurora and Didi. Basically, the value of those shares are up, so on paper it looks like Uber’s core business made a lot more money than it actually did. Whether the companies are really worth that much is another question entirely — but that doesn’t matter to Uber. At least it’s not using the much more deceptive “adjusted EBITDA” metric it spent years getting the media to treat as an accurate picture of its finances. Don’t be fooled into thinking the supposed innovation Uber was meant to deliver is finally bearing fruit. The profit it’s reporting is purely due to exploitative business practices where the worker and consumer are squeezed to serve investors — and technology is the tool to do it. This is the moment CEO Dara Khosrowshahi has been working toward for years, and the plan he’s trying to implement to cement the company’s position should have us all concerned about the future of how we get around and how we work.

[...]

Uber didn’t become a global player in transportation because it wielded technology to more efficiently deliver services to the public. The tens of billions of dollars it lost over the past decade went into undercutting taxis on price and drawing drivers to its service — including some taxi drivers — by promising good wages, only to cut them once the competition posed by taxis had been eroded and consumers had gotten used to turning to the Uber app instead of calling or hailing a cab. As transport analyst Hubert Horan outlined, for-hire rides are not a service that can take advantage of economies of scale like a software or logistics company, meaning just because you deliver more rides doesn’t mean the per-ride cost gets significantly cheaper. Uber actually created a less cost-efficient model because it forces drivers to use their own vehicles and buy their own insurance instead of having a fleet of similar vehicles covered by fleet insurance. Plus, it has a ton of costs your average taxi company doesn’t: a high-paid tech workforce, expensive headquarters scattered around the world, and outrageously compensated executive management like Khosrowshahi, just to name a few. How did Uber cut costs then? By systematically going after the workers that deliver its service. More recently, it took advantage of the cost-of-living crisis to keep them on board in the same way it exploited workers left behind by the financial crisis in the years after its initial launch. Its only real innovation is finding new ways to exploit labor.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

This is your brain on fraud apologetics

In 1998, two Stanford students published a paper in Computer Networks entitled “The Anatomy of a Large-Scale Hypertextual Web Search Engine,” in which they wrote, “Advertising funded search engines will be inherently biased towards the advertisers and away from the needs of consumers.”

https://research.google/pubs/pub334/

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

The co-authors were Lawrence Page and Sergey Brin, and the “large-scale hypertextual web search-engine” they were describing was their new project, which they called “Google.” They were 100% correct — prescient, even!

On Wednesday night, a friend came over to watch some TV with us. We ordered out. We got scammed. We searched for a great local Thai place we like called Kiin and clicked a sponsored link for a Wix site called “Kiinthaila.com.” We should have clicked the third link down (kiinthaiburbank.com).

We got scammed. The Wix site was a lookalike for Kiin Thai, which marked up their prices by 15% and relayed the order to our local, mom-and-pop, one-branch restaurant. The restaurant knew it, too — they called us and told us they were canceling the order, and said we could still come get our food, but we’d have to call Amex to reverse the charge.

As it turned out, the scammers double-billed us for our order. I called Amex, who advised us to call back in a couple days when the charge posted to cancel it — in other words, they were treating it as a regular customer dispute, and not a systemic, widespread fraud (there’s no way this scammer is just doing this for one restaurant).

In the grand scheme of things, this is a minor hassle, but boy, it’s haunting to watch the quarter-century old prophecy of Brin and Page coming true. Search Google for carpenters, plumbers, gas-stations, locksmiths, concert tickets, entry visas, jobs at the US Post Office or (not making this up) tech support for Google products, and the top result will be a paid ad for a scam. Sometimes it’s several of the top ads.

This kind of “intermediation” business is actually revered in business-schools. As Douglas Rushkoff has written, the modern business wisdom reveres “going meta” — not doing anything useful, but rather, creating a chokepoint between people who do useful things and people who want to pay for those things, and squatting there, collecting rent:

https://rushkoff.medium.com/going-meta-d42c6a09225e

It’s the ultimate passive income/rise and grind side-hustle: It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to discover a whole festering nest of creeps on Tiktok talking about how they pay Mechanical Turks to produce these lookalike sites at scale.

This mindset is so pervasive that people running companies with billions in revenue and massive hoards of venture capital run exactly the same scam. During lockdown, companies like Doordash, Grubhub and Uber Eats stood up predatory lookalike websites for local restaurants, without their consent, and played monster-in-the-middle, tricking diners into ordering through them:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/19/we-are-beautiful/#man-in-the-middle

These delivery app companies were playing a classic enshittification game: first they directed surpluses to customers to lock them in (heavily discounting food), then they directed surplus to restaurants (preferential search results, free delivery, low commissions) — then, having locked in both consumers and producers, they harvested the surplus for themselves.

Today, delivery apps charge massive premiums to both eaters and restaurants, load up every order with junk fees, and clone the most successful restaurants out of ghost kitchens — shipping containers in parking lots crammed with low-waged workers cranking out orders for 15 different fake “virtual restaurants”:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/01/autophagic-buckeyes/#subsidized-autophagia

Delivery apps speedran the enshittification cycle, but Google took a slower path to get there. The company has locked in billions of users (e.g. by paying billions to be the default search on Safari and Firefox and using legal bullying to block third party Android device-makers from pre-installing browsers other than Chrome). For years, it’s been leveraging our lock-in to prey on small businesses, getting them to set up Google Business Profiles.

These profiles are supposed to help Google distinguish between real sellers and scammers. But Kiin Thai has a Google Business Profile, and searching for “kiin thai burbank” brings up a “Knowledge Panel” with the correct website address — on a page that is headed with a link to a scam website for the same business. Google, in other words, has everything it needs to flag lookalike sites and confirm them with their registered owners. It would cost Google money to do this — engineer-time to build and maintain the system, content moderator time to manually check flagged listings, and lost ad-revenue from scammers — but letting the scams flourish makes Google money, at the expense of Google users and Google business customers.

Now, Google has an answer for this: they tell merchants who are being impersonated by ad-buying scammers that all they need to do is outbid them for the top ad-spot. This is a common approach — Amazon has a $31b/year “ad business” that’s mostly its own platform sellers bidding against each other to show you fake results for your query. The first five screens of Amazon search results are 50% ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

This is “going meta,” so naturally, Meta is doing it too: Facebook and Instagram have announced a $12/month “verification” badge that will let you report impersonation and tweak the algorithm to make it more likely that the posts you make are shown to the people who explicitly asked to see them:

https://www.vox.com/recode/2023/2/21/23609375/meta-verified-twitter-blue-checkmark-badge-instagram-facebook

The corollary of this, of course, is that if you don’t pay, they won’t police your impersonators, and they won’t show your posts to the people who asked to see them. This is pure enshittification — the surplus from users and business customers is harvested for the benefit of the platform owners:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

The idea that merchants should master the platforms as a means of keeping us safe from their impersonators is a hollow joke. For one thing, the rules change all the time, as the platforms endlessly twiddle the knobs that determine what gets shown to whom:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

And they refuse to tell anyone what the rules are, because if they told you what the rules were, you’d be able to bypass them. Content moderation is the only infosec domain where “security through obscurity” doesn’t get laughed out of the room:

https://doctorow.medium.com/como-is-infosec-307f87004563

Worse: the one thing the platforms do hunt down and exterminate with extreme prejudice is anything that users or business-customers use to twiddle back — add-ons and plugins and jailbreaks that override their poor choices with better ones:

https://www.theverge.com/2022/9/29/23378541/the-og-app-instagram-clone-pulled-from-app-store

As I was submitting complaints about the fake Kiin scam-site (and Amex’s handling of my fraud call) to the FTC, the California Attorney General, the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau and Wix, I wrote a little Twitter thread about what a gross scam this is:

https://twitter.com/doctorow/status/1628948906657878016

The thread got more than two million reads and got picked up by Hacker News and other sites. While most of the responses evinced solidarity and frustration and recounted similar incidents in other domains, a significant plurality of the replies were scam apologetics — messages from people who wanted to explain why this wasn’t a problem after all.

The most common of these was victim-blaming: “you should have used an adblocker” or “never click the sponsored link.” Of course, I do use an ad-blocker — but this order was placed with a mobile browser, after an absentminded query into the Google search-box permanently placed on the home screen, which opens results in Chrome (where I don’t have an ad-blocker, so I can see material behind an ad-blocker-blocker), not Firefox (which does have an ad-blocker).

Now, I also have a PiHole on my home LAN, which blocks most ads even in a default browser — but earlier this day, I’d been on a public wifi network that was erroneously blocking a website (the always excellent superpunch.net) so I’d turned my wifi off, which meant the connection came over my phone’s 5G connection, bypassing the PiHole:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/28/shut-yer-pi-hole/

“Don’t click a sponsored link” — well, the irony here is that if you habitually use a browser with an ad-blocker, and you backstop it with a PiHole, you never see sponsored links, so it’s easy to miss the tiny “Sponsored” notification beside the search result. That goes double if you’re relaxing with a dinner guest on the sofa and ordering dinner while chatting.

There’s a name for this kind of security failure: the Swiss Cheese Model. We all have multiple defenses (in my case: foreknowledge of Google’s ad-scam problem, an ad-blocker in my browser, LAN-wide ad sinkholing). We also have multiple vulnerabilities (in my case: forgetting I was on 5G, being distracted by conversation, using a mobile device with a permanent insecure search bar on the homescreen, and being so accustomed to ad-blocked results that I got out of the habit of checking whether a result was an ad).

If you think you aren’t vulnerable to scams, you’re wrong — and your confidence in your invulnerability actually increases your risk. This isn’t the first time I’ve been scammed, and it won’t be the last — and every time, it’s been a Swiss Cheese failure, where all the holes in all my defenses lined up for a brief instant and left me vulnerable:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

Other apologetics: “just call the restaurant rather than using its website.” Look, I know the people who say this don’t think I have a time-machine I can use to travel back to the 1980s and retrieve a Yellow Pages, but it’s hard not to snark at them, just the same. Scammers don’t just set up fake websites for your local businesses — they staff them with fake call-centers, too. The same search that takes you to a fake website will also take you to a fake phone number.

Finally, there’s “What do you expect Google to do? They can’t possibly detect this kind of scam.” But they can. Indeed, they are better situated to discover these scams than anyone else, because they have their business profiles, with verified contact information for the merchants being impersonated. When they get an ad that seems to be for the same business but to a different website, they could interrupt the ad process to confirm it with their verified contact info.

Instead, they choose to avoid the expense, and pocket the ad revenue. If a company promises to “to organize the world’s information and make it universally accessible and useful,” I think we have the right to demand these kinds of basic countermeasures:

https://www.google.com/search/howsearchworks/our-approach/

The same goes for Amex: when a merchant is scamming customers, they shouldn’t treat complaints as “chargebacks” — they should treat them as reports of a crime in progress. Amex has the bird’s eye view of their transaction flow and when a customer reports a scam, they can backtrack it to see if the same scammer is doing this with other merchants — but the credit card companies make money by not chasing down fraud:

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/rosalindadams/mastercard-visa-fraud

Wix also has platform-scale analytics that they could use to detect and interdict this kind of fraud — when a scammer creates a hundred lookalike websites for restaurants and uses Wix’s merchant services to process payments for them, that could trigger human review — but it didn’t.

Where do all of these apologetics come from? Why are people so eager to leap to the defense of scammers and their adtech and fintech enablers? Why is there such an impulse to victim-blame?

I think it’s fear: in their hearts, people — especially techies — know that they, too, are vulnerable to these ripoffs, but they don’t want to admit it. They want to convince themselves that the person who got scammed made an easily avoidable mistake, and that they themselves will never make a similar mistake.

This is doubly true for readerships on tech-heavy forums like Twitter or (especially) Hacker News. These readers know just how many vulnerabilities there are — how many holes are in their Swiss cheese — and they are also overexposed to rise-and-grind/passive income rhetoric.

This produces a powerful cognitive dissonance: “If all the ‘entrepreneurs’ I worship are just laying traps for the unwary, and if I am sometimes unwary, then I’m cheering on the authors of my future enduring misery.” The only way to resolve this dissonance — short of re-evaluating your view of platform capitalism or questioning your own immunity to scams — is to blame the victim.

The median Hacker News reader has to somehow resolve the tension between “just install an adblocker” and “Chrome’s extension sandbox is a dumpster fire and it’s basically impossible to know whether any add-on you install can steal every keystroke and all your other data”:

https://mattfrisbie.substack.com/p/spy-chrome-extension

In my Twitter thread, I called this “the worst of all possible timelines.” Everything we do is mediated by gigantic, surveillant monopolists that spy on us comprehensively from asshole to appetite — but none of them, not a 20th century payment giant nor a 21st century search giant — can bestir itself to use that data to keep us safe from scams.

Next Thu (Mar 2) I'll be in Brussels for Antitrust, Regulation and the Political Economy, along with a who's-who of European and US trustbusters. It's livestreamed, and both in-person and virtual attendance are free:

https://www.brusselsconference.com/registration

On Fri (Mar 3), I'll be in Graz for the Elevate Festival:

https://elevate.at/diskurs/programm/event/e23doctorow/

[Image ID: A modified version of Hieronymus Bosch's painting 'The Conjurer,' which depicts a scam artist playing a shell-game for a group of gawking rubes. The image has been modified so that the scam artist's table has a Google logo and the pea he is triumphantly holding aloft bears the 'Sponsored' wordmark that appears alongside Google search results.]

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day Five: Birthdays @rowaelinscourt

Month Masterlist // AO3 // Find Part One Here (not necessary to read)

Summary: Forced to live together during covid, Rowan and Aelin have their own series of misgivings while trying to get along.

Warnings: references to covid, but really it's fluff ~1.8k words

.*.*.*.*.

Level of Concern (tell me we're ok)

If she hadn’t expressed it enough already: Aelin hated the pandemic.  She hated isolation.  She hated separation.  She hated the unknown.  She hated all of it.

Yes, she knew it was important and key to seeing lower number spikes and she knew this was all she could do aside from getting vaccinated and it was all very important to take seriously.  Sure.  Fine.

But why did it feel so lonely?

She sat at the kitchen table staring at her breakfast of granola and milk wishing it were a triple decked pile of Nutella pancakes.  Her groceries were running low and since money was tight, she had to wait until her paycheck cleared on Friday before she could go to the store.  It was Monday.

Aelin glanced at her phone.  Again.

No messages.

It was only eight, earlier than her family knew she would ever get up.  Especially on a day like today.  Still.  She would have expected at least one text from Aedion.

A small shuffle down the hall told her that Rowan was awake.  Of course he was.  Aelin was pretty sure he woke up by five-thirty so he could still work out in the living room.  It really pissed her off that he wasn’t getting fat.  She’d gained two pounds since quarantine began.  Not that she could really tell…honestly, she knew it didn’t mean anything and who the hell cared what her body looked like.  If she didn’t have to worry about money she’d be eating her weight in cake right now.

“Are you alright?”

Aelin looked up to see Rowan standing in the kitchen entryway.  She hadn’t noticed his entrance, only thinking he was moving from bathroom to bedroom.

“So good,” she said.  She took a bite of now soggy granola and hated her entire existence.

Rowan, dressed in his usual slacks and neat button up, went to start a pot of coffee.  His pine scented soap permeated the air and Aelin tried not to sniff too loudly.  Why did he have to smell good too?

After the entire incident with the cookie dough weeks ago, Aelin had tried to put some much needed distance between the two of them.  Well, much needed for her.  He didn’t need her being awkward and fluttery around him.  Because she wasn’t.  Obviously.  He was just attractive and she was an idiot.

Rowan took a seat at the table across from her, bowl of premade overnight oats and bowl of berries set before him.  How much did he make that he could afford fresh fruit?  In this economy?  Maybe, maybe, once a month did she indulge on some nicer foods.  But after the “great egg famine” she relied a bit too heavily on cheaper items.  She should try working out.  Maybe that would help her slump.

“You’re staring at me,” Rowan said.  He was looking at his phone with some news app opened. 

“Am not.” Another soggy bite of granola.

“Sure,” he replied, drawing the word out.

Aelin rolled her eyes and stood.  She wasn’t going to finish this food, no matter how painful it was to waste it.  Besides, she had to prepare for her day.  She’d managed to snag a few jobs for the week that would hopefully keep her busy enough to ignore the fact that this birthday was going to be the worst she’d ever had.

#

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully.  Which Aelin had built herself up for, really.

Elide was a travelling nurse and with Covid, she’d been busier than ever.  Aedion was still stationed overseas doing something that was uber classified.  He could just say he was training with the SEALS and be done with it.  Lysandra had launched a new clothing store right before lockdown and was doing everything in her power to keep the little shop up and running.  Aelin spent a decent chunk of her paycheck on items from the store and most of her Insta feed was just reels Lysandra created.

She couldn’t be mad at any of them, not really.  Not even her own parents.  Her father had been leveraging to retire from his company but that hope had been shot out the window and her mother was helping to care for some relatives that were also struggling.  No one was immune to the chaos the last several months had caused.

Aelin was finally able log off her personal website having finished the long list of assignments and editing jobs.  Now she just needed to hear back from her clients and their re-edits.

Out in the kitchen Rowan was already bustling around.  She could hear pots banging and already a delightful aroma was permeating the air.  It was only five-fifteen, he must have finished up his day early, a first for him.

Scrubbing a hand down her face, Aelin grabbed one of her oversized flannels and tugged it on over her graphic tee, Read Banned Books was printed over the front.  It probably needs to be washed but she couldn’t be bothered with laundry.

As she shuffles out of her room she tried to decide what she has left to eat for dinner.  A frozen dinner or maybe ramen.  Which sounded terrible if she were being honest.

“I’ll be quick—” she began to tell Rowan as she entered the kitchen.  But she came up short when she saw the table was made up with two place settings.  And the stove was full of more than enough food for one person. 

She frowned.  Rowan was adamant over the rules of social distancing, his parents were older and at a higher risk of getting infected, so he wouldn’t have anyone over—the vaccine hadn’t rolled out for their area yet anyways.

Rowan glanced up at her, kitchen towel slung over one shoulder, his sleeves were rolled up leaving his forearms on display and bits of his tattoo peeking out from the fabric.

She was definitely staring.

“Happy birthday,” he said when she didn’t finish her thought. He gestured a hand around the messy kitchen then the table. “I was expecting you to take a little longer, so it’s not quite ready.”

Aelin blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“I know it’s your birthday Aelin,” he said, “and I’m sure it’s been hell for you today.  I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Something…nice?

“You made me dinner?” she asked, trying desperately to ignore the way her heart gave a flip in her chest.

“Yeah,” he said simply.  He glanced back at the stove. “It’s only a Tuscan chicken and bread.”

It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her in ages.  She looked over his shoulder as the chicken in its cream and sundried tomato sauce as it bubbled happily away, a pot of pasta behind it.  There were dishes scattered in the sink (she’d never seen him make such a mess before) and Rowan did have a mildly frantic look in his eyes.  It was the most disheveled she’d ever seen him.

“Thank-you,” Aelin said.  She brushed a hand through her hair unsure why she was feeling so frazzled.  “Can I help with anything.”

Rowan shook his head. “We’re almost done anyways.  Have a seat and I’ll bring it over.”

Following his direction, Aelin settled into her chair, still trying to figure out if she’d stepped into a different reality.

“How’d you know it was my birthday?” she asked as he finished getting everything together.

“Elide texted me,” Rowan told her, “told me that she didn’t know her schedule to give you a call and your family is…busy.”

“Right,” Aelin agreed.  Elide was dating one of Rowan’s friends, Lorcan, so it wasn’t completely strange that she would at least know of him.  “Where’d you learn to cook anyways?  You’re always whipping something up.”

“My ma,” Rowan said.  He dished a plate of food and returned it back before her.  Heavenly scents wafted up to her and Aelin realized she was salivating. “She always said she wanted to make sure I could take care of myself.  And I liked it, so I kept cooking after I went to college.”

It was the most she’d ever heard from him.  And now…now she wanted to hear more from him.

Rowan dished his own plate and sat in the chair opposite her. “I hope you like it.”

“It smells amazing,” she admitted.  She got a forkful of all the bits of the meal; chicken, basil, sundried tomatoes, parmesan cheese, all drenched in sauce.  Unable to wait for it to cool down she stuffed it into her mouth.  Rowan watched her with mixed bemusement (mostly concern).

“Oh,” she moaned, ignoring the look he was giving her.  “This is the best thing ever.”

“You’re going to burn your mouth to hell,” he said, slowly readying his own bite.

“Too good,” she replied.  She was only on her second bite and planning on seconds.  If he was going to cook for her, she’d eat every last bite.

Rowan muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t make out but she didn’t care.  It had been ages since she’d had a decent homecooked meal and this was more than decent.

“Was your day alright, all things considered?” he asked, passing her the garlic bread.

Aelin finally managed to slow down and take a drink of water and some of the proffered bread.  She took a moment to consider her answer.  If she told the truth he’d probably pity her more.

“It was okay,” she said.  “Same old.  I got a few new clients so it was keeping me busy.”  She wouldn’t see payout from these jobs for at least another three weeks which was why she was banking on this Friday’s payments to come through. “What about you?  No big ‘ol problems for you?”

She was teasing him, mostly.  He’d given her enough grief about her English degree in this economy that she didn’t being a little snippy right back at him.

Rowan rolled his eyes.  He took another bite to furlong his response.  “Same as always.”

Aelin quirked her brow. “So that f-bomb this morning was…what? Catharsis?”

“Yes.”

He responded too quickly that Aelin knew she had him.

“Right,” she drawled. “It’s alright to hate your job you know, no one will judge you or your fancy degree for it.”

“Aelin.”

She shrugged, mouth quirking in a smile. “Last one, promise.”

“I don’t trust you on that,” he said.

Aelin wasn’t offended.

They finished meal companionably, which shocked Aelin more than Rowan cooking for her.  And she helped him clean the dishes, because really, she wasn’t that terrible a person.

“So, no chocolate cake?” She asked as she dried the last pan.

“I cook not bake,” he said, “you’re on your own for that, princess.”

She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.  As he turned to head back to his room for the night, Aelin garnered the last amount of courage she had for that day.

“Rowan,” she said, calling him back.  “Thank-you for tonight.”

He offered her one, rare smile. “You’re welcome.”

.*.*.*.

thanks for reading!! reblogs and comments appreciated. my blog @writtenonreceiptswrites is my fic only blog where i reblog all updates!

[flowerxbunnie]

OK BESTIE LISTEN

i heard “roses are red, watches are gold. get on your knees and do as you’re told.” I NEED IT IN A MATT FIC PLEASEEEEEE

okok so maybe matt really reallyyyy wants to spend money on a pretty girl. you sign up on a sugar baby website for that coin, and y’all start talkingggg. he flies you out and books a hotel 👀 there’s a red dress and like a gold and diamond watch on the bed and rose petals and wine, w that on a note. and he gives you a time and place to meet him for dinner and is giving you the eyes alllll night. and yk the resttttt

Sugar Daddy

Matt x Fem Reader

Warnings: Smut, sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, fluffy ending

@lustfulslxt

DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT LIKE SMUT OR ARE A MINOR!

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you and spy from another table? I’m terrified you’re gonna get your head chopped off with an axe,” Jaycee says while lint rolling my dress.

“Girl I promise I’ll be fine. Most of the time these guys can’t even walk without a cane, let alone chase me down with an axe,” I laugh, checking myself in the mirror again. “Plus I’ll have my location on. One bad vibe and I promise I’ll let you know.”

I smile and hug my best friend, pulling away and spinning around to show her the back of the dress.

“How do I look? Think I’ll get a big payout tonight?” I say while raising an eyebrow in a jokingly seductive way.

“Honey I KNOW his wallet is gonna be screaming and crying at him after you’re done with him. Do you have to… you know…?” She does a ring shape with one hand and pokes her finger in and out.

“Fuck him?” I laugh, swatting her hands down. “It just depends. A lot of these guys just want a pretty girl to keep them company. Like some of them I literally just eat dinner with and that’s it. But if they want little something extra and I’m feeling up for it, why not?”

“What does he look like?” she questions.

I shrug before quickly trying to explain it the easiest way I can after I see the worried look on her face.

“So first of all, this sugar daddy app is referral only, so it’s definitely safe. He has to have been referred by another sugar baby, passed a background check, proven he can pay out, submitted a photo of himself to the owner of the app, all that jazz. But it’s kinda like a blind date.. on my end? Like he knows what I look like but not my name.. but I’ve never seen him… I know the first letter of his name… Anyway I don’t know why exactly it’s a thing, but it was created by former sugar babies and I think it’ll be cool to give it a shot!” I spew all this information at her as she stares at me just blinking.

“Oh…okayyy…” she trails off before adding “Please please be safe, Y/n. You know I’m just a phone call away!” She kisses my cheek and walks back to her room.

I pull out my phone and open my messages with M.

-Onyx hotel at 6pm. Reservation will be under the name Adam Smith. They’ll get you in no problem.

Adam Smith causes me to raise an eyebrow, but I order an Uber and sit around for for a while before looking in my full length mirror again, smoothing out my black dress and fluffing my hair. I spray a vanilla scented perfume onto the pulse points of my neck and grab my bag. I dig through it and make sure I still have my pepper spray and stun gun. I know I’ll be fine, the app is super well rated and trustworthy, but you never know what some of these dudes will try.

•••

The Uber pulls up to the door of a massive hotel. I’m no architect but it looks like the doorway is carved from marble. I step out of my Uber and thank my driver before making my way into the doors of the Onyx, a door greeter offering to show me to the desk.

“Hi, I have a room booked under the name Adam Smith.” I smile as the lady behind the desk types into her computer to pull up the file.

“Got it right here sweetie.” She reaches under the desk to get the room key and slides it across the counter to me. “All the way to the top floor, make a right and it’s the door at the end of the hall. Have fun with Mr. Smith,” she adds in at the end, and I swear I can see a smirk on her face.

I make my way to the elevator, now flustered, and press the button for the top floor, my heart beginning to beat a little harder as I realize I’ll be meeting M face to face in a few short moments. Before I can think too hard, the elevator doors slide open. I step out and make my way to the end of the hall, my heels clicking with each step and echoing off the walls. I pull out the room key and take a deep breath before sliding the card into the reader and watching it blink green.

“Don’t fuck this up, Y/n. You need this money.” I think to myself.

I push the door open and I’m met with the scent of champagne and sweet roses. It smells like luxury.

“Hello, M?” I ask, shutting and locking the door behind me.

I’m met with a still silence. I put my bag down by the door and survey the room. It’s massive, marble floors with intricate wallpaper donning the walls. There’s even an office area with a desk, notepads and various office supplies. I notice an open pen on the desk, but I’m honestly too scared to touch anything. It all looks fucking expensive. My phone vibrates in my hand and I see a message from M pop up on my lock screen.

-You make it in okay?

-Yes, where are you?

-Check the bed.

I make my way over to the queen size bed and gasp. I see a red satin dress laid out surrounded by rose petals. It’s gorgeous, way better than the dress I picked for myself tonight. There’s a note beside it, and when I pick it up I find a black velvet box that was strategically hidden underneath the paper. I unfold the note and read the smooth handwriting,

“Roses are red, watches are gold.

Get on your knees and do as you’re told.”

I immediately break out in a blush, smiling to myself just from seeing M’s words on the page. Guess I know what I’ll be getting myself into later. I read further down the note and I see something else scribbled out.

“I’ll be waiting, my lady in red.”

I pick up the black velvet box and open it, shocked once I’m met with a shining gold watch encrusted with diamonds around the face. I pick it up gently out of its cushioning and flip it over, an “M” carved into the gold underside of the watch. Fuck, that’s honestly hot. Marking me already? I slip it onto my wrist gently and fasten the clasp, the cold watch against my wrist giving me shivers but it fits perfectly.

I slip off my black dress and shimmy into the red one, smiling as it zips up and clings onto me like a glove. I feel like pure luxury right now, checking myself out in the mirror before I see my phone light up on the bed.

-Uber is outside. See you soon.

I swear this man is already driving me crazy. He ordered the nicest Uber I’ve ever been in and made sure I had a glass of champagne ready to be poured to sip on during the ride. We pull up to a restaurant I’ve never even heard of and my driver gets out to open my door for me. “Watch your step, sweetheart.”

I walk to the reservations counter and give them the same name I was told to give to the hotel, and I’m led to a table in the back of the restaurant. My heart is beating out of my chest at this point. This is the first blind date I’ve been on at all, let alone with a potential sugar daddy. What if he’s hideous or weird or creepy?

I’m pretty sure my eyes fell out and rolled onto the floor when I saw M. He’s a young, hot brunette with striking blue eyes that feel like they’re burning holes into my skin.

“Your waiter will be over shortly,” the hostess smiles and walks back the other way.

M stands up to pull my seat out for me, but not before grabbing my hand and placing a soft kiss onto the backside, making my heart skip a beat before I sit down and he pushes me closer to the table.

“Not what you were expecting, I’m guessing?” He questions, his eyes locked onto mine with a smug smile.

“No not at all. I mean, I’m not mad about it I just-” I take a shaky breath, trying to calm my nerves before speaking again. “Usually the men I meet are shriveled up and on their last leg. You seem so young to be doing this kind of thing.”

He laughs and nods. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“A lot? So you’ve been doing this for a while, then?” I question, grabbing the glass of water that was waiting on me and take a sip, my berry red lipstick leaving a mark on the rim.

“Not too long. Maybe six months?” He looks up in thought. “Yeah like six or seven.”

“What’s your real name, Mr. M?” I ask in a lower voice, playing up the mystery vibe.

“I’m Matthew… or just Matt. And yours, pretty lady?”

“Y/n. Pleasure to be getting to know you better, Matthew.”

•••

We drink and eat and talk for what feels like hours, getting to know the ins and outs of both of our experiences in the sugar daddy world. I learn that Matthew is an influencer who makes crazy money and doesn’t know what to spend it on. He explained to me that he’s always had a love for gift giving, and when the money started rolling in and he realized he could get any girl he wanted, it combined and spiraled into almost a fetish to spend money on beautiful women.

I surprisingly understand where he’s coming from and we talked about that for a good chunk of the night. I felt like I was kinda playing therapist in a way, helping him see the reasons for why he does these “taboo” things from a nonjudgmental perspective.

After we finish dinner and drinks he orders another Uber and walks me out, opening the door for me and placing his hand on the small of my back to guide me down to my seat. I scoot to the seat behind the driver and watch as Matt ducks down to take his seat and shuts the black car door. I click my seatbelt and look up to see him scooting closer to me and settling in the middle seat, flashing a smirk my way.

The ride back to the Onyx is filled with glasses of champagne and shared giggles while we listen to the Uber driver tell us the story of his life that we definitely didn’t ask for. Matt’s hand nonchalantly lands on my thigh at some point during a giggle fit and I swear I freeze, not out of fear but anticipation. His fingers trail to the inner part of my thigh while his thumb rests on top tracing back and forth, sending butterflies through my entire body. He just looks over at me and smiles before turning back to the driver and egging him on, asking stupid questions like, “So then what did you do once they threw your shit on the street??”

It’s all a blur, his hand wondering aimlessly up and down my thigh with no intention to venture under my dress just yet. His smooth skin catching and reflecting the lights of the city as we journey through traffic. I feel like I can’t really concentrate on the conversation and I barely speak. This man is gorgeous inside and out- it’s like I’ve known him for years. It’s weird and it’s making me so flustered, but thankfully we come to a stop outside the Onyx and I can release the breath I’ve been holding in.

Matt steps out and walks to the driver’s window, handing him an envelope and shaking his hand before stepping towards my door and holding his hand out for me. I grab onto it and I feel a weird feeling shoot across my body just from the simple feeling of his skin on mine. He doesn’t let go as we make our way though the doors and into the lobby. He shoots the lady at the front desk a wave and a smile before we turn the corner towards the elevators.

The ride to the top floor feels like it takes triple the amount time as it did when I did it alone. Matt moves to stand across from me with his back leaned against the wall, stealing glances occasionally. There’s a silence between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s filled with a tension so thick I can almost physically feel it. We exit as we reach our floor and he lets me lead the way.

“That dress fits you so perfectly, sweetheart,” he whispers as he trails behind me.

I can feel his eyes burning into my back as I chuckle and try to keep the blush from spreading across my cheeks. We reach the door to the room and I stop to dig through my purse for the key, but before I finish Matt reaches around me, his chest touching my back, and swipes his own key. His veiny hand turns the handle and pushes it open before we step inside. I sit my bag down on the desk and reach down to take off my heels before I’m interrupted by his deep voice.

“Let me take them off. Sit on the bed.”

“Oh, yes sir,” I say in a teasing voice, raising my eyebrows and walking over to the bed before settling on the edge.

He moves to stand in front of me and grabs my right ankle gently, running his hand up to my knee before placing my heel onto his belt. I watch as his fingers delicately trace the strap around my ankle and find the clasp, undoing it before slipping my heel off and tossing it to the side. He repeats the same actions on my left leg, but once this heel is removed he drops to his knees and props my leg onto his shoulder causing me to fall onto my back and gasp.

He reaches down to grab my other leg and props it onto his other shoulder. His eyes snap up to meet mine, a look of lust written all over his face. I can feel myself starting to throb, a puddle forming between my thighs as he tilts his head towards my inner thigh and brushes his stubble along the tender skin.

I usually don’t get this into the sex with the other men I meet. They’re almost all over the age of 50 with some kind of ailment and it’s just not my vibe. I need the money so I do it, and I won’t lie, I’ve ended up being shocked and enjoying it a couple of times. But Matt has barely even touched me and my body is craving him desperately.

He spreads my legs as his lips cover my thighs in wet kisses, trailing achingly close to my core as he pushes my dress up around my hips.

He looks down at my panties as if he’s an artist admiring his work, running his thumb along the fabric and feeling the arousal that had made itself visible. He meets my gaze and increases his pressure, tilting his head in awe as if he’s poking an animal in a cage. Soft whimpers start involuntarily leaving my lips, my hips rocking against him.

“Fuck, look at you already squirming for me.” He licks his lips and leans forward, flattening his tongue across the fabric causing me to moan and grip the sheets from the pressure and warmth.

He watches as I react and blinks slowly before licking a stripe from the bottom to the top, biting at the hem and letting go roughly. The elastic stings my skin but he quickly places kisses along my skin to soothe it.

“F-fuck, Matthew.” I can’t help but roll my eyes back, going insane from all the teasing.

He uses his index finger to pull my panties to the side, letting out a deep groan when his eyes meet my dripping pussy. He wastes no time before burying his head between my legs, his tongue dancing up and down my core.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he almost whines as he comes up for a breath.

He continues lapping me up and I’m a mess underneath him, cursing, arching my back off the bed, gripping at the sheets, pulling his hair. Anything to release the tension building up in my body.

He pulls back, bringing his hand down and teasing my entrance with his middle finger before easing it in. I moan out as he curls up into my g spot, which prompts him to repeat the motion repeatedly. He brings his head back down to suck on my clit, making unbreaking eye contact.

A knot is twisting in my stomach at the sight of his blue eyes staring into mine, him working relentlessly to bring me to my peak. My legs begin to tighten around his head but he doesn’t fight it. He picks his pace up and begins humming deliciously into my pussy.

“Let me see that pretty face while you’re cumming on mine.” he says breathlessly dipping back down to flick his tongue across my clit.

I prop myself up onto my elbows and stare down at him, and his eyes look like they’re almost begging for me to release.

“M-Matt I’m gonna… fuck I’m gonna cum,” I whine before feeling the tension in my stomach snap and my orgasm flush through my body. I can see the smile in his eyes as he watches me come undone, making a mess of myself while crying out his name and clenching around his finger.

“Was that good, princess?” He asks, standing up and undoing the buttons on his shirt with one hand while pushing his hair out of his face with the other.

“Best one I’ve had in a while,” I pant, trying to get my breathing back to normal.

He simply smiles and slips his button up off, tossing it beside the bed. He grabs both of my hands and pulls me into a sitting position then reaches down and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Let’s see how good those pretty little lips look around me, hm?”

I blush and reach for his belt, making eye contact as I undo it slowly and unbutton his pants. I see his jaw clenching as I take down the zipper and begin to tug at the waistband. My breath hitches as his dick springs up and brushes my face in the process. That same smug grin he keeps doing creeps onto his lips as he takes himself into his hand and pumps his cock steadily while looking down at me.

His free hand comes up to grab my jaw, his thumb parting my lips and teeth. He brushes the rough pad of his thumb across my tongue gently a few times before pushing it to the back of my throat, chuckling when I gag and pull away. He slides his head into my mouth and closes his eyes in pleasure.

I grip his base and pump with a twisting motion a few times before taking all I can of his length into my mouth. I begin to bob my head back and forth, stopping at the tip to swirl my tongue around his head every so often. His breathing gets heavier as I run my free hand up and down his abdomen, my nails leaving a trail of red marks in their wake.

He brings both hands into the lengths of my hair and twists it once around his hands before tugging my head back and thrusting himself further into the back of my throat.

“Look at you taking it so well, such a good girl for me,” he groans as he continues pumping in and out of my mouth.

He throws his head back and I can feel his dick twitching, so I pull back and hold my mouth open with my tongue out, ready to swallow his load.

“Ready to take it down your throat, hm? I have something else in mind, baby. Get on the bed.”

“Get me out of this thing first,” I beg, standing up with my back to him motioning to the zipper on my dress.

I feel his warm hands touch my hips and trail up my sides before brushing across my back and tugging the zipper down, pulling the straps off my shoulders and letting the dress hit the floor. I can feel his breath on my back as I feel the clasps of my bra coming undone slowly. I slip it off and toss my panties aside before crawling up the bed. I press my chest to the bed and arch my back as I feel the bed dipping beneath his weight. I feel his presence behind me before two hands come down to knead my ass and give it a light smack.

“It’s like you already knew how I wanted you,” he laughs and pulls my hips toward him.

“Lucky guess,” I giggle, my breath hitching soon after as I feel his hard dick sliding up and down my folds.

He slaps his tip against my entrance a couple times before pushing into me and sucking in a harsh breath.

“Such a tight little pussy,” he says as he bottoms out and holds for a few seconds.

I’m aching for movement so I wiggle my hips back and forth, feeling the fullness and how he feels against my walls. He grips onto my hips and squeezes, pulling out halfway before pushing all the way back in harshly.

He picks up his pace and the room is filled with moans and the sound of our skin slapping together. I can’t help but throw myself back into him, desperate to somehow have him deeper than what’s possible- it feels primal and animalistic. His sweat drips onto my back as he pants and keeps a steady rhythm, and the noises coming out of me are something I’ve never heard myself do before.

His thrusts get slower and slower, more unpredictable, before he pulls out and flips me onto my back, legs wide open for him.

“Touch yourself, baby. Let me watch.” he demands as he stays on his knees between my legs jerking himself.

I bring my hand down to my clit and rub small circles, watching as his eyes rake up and down my body. I bring my free hand up to my breast and pinch my nipple between my fingers, rolling and tugging gently.

His mouth hangs open and I watch the muscles in his arm contract as his grip tightens. I bring my finger up from my pussy to my mouth, tasting myself on my fingers and getting them wet before returning to my core, rubbing back and forth on my clit faster than before knowing I’m about to spill over the edge. I bite my lip to stifle my cries as my high crashes through my body, my head rushing and body tingling.

This must have been enough for Matt to break, and he watches intently as he spills his warm load onto my pussy, drips falling down onto the sheets underneath.

He falls down to lay beside me on the bed, both of us dizzy and dazed. I watch his chest rising and falling rhythmically as he catches his breath, not laying for too long before he gets up and quickly walks to the bathroom, returning with a washcloth.

“Can I?” He asks, sitting between my legs and holding the rag out, a much more innocent look on his face than the last time he was in this position.

I giggle and nod, appreciating him wanting to help me clean up. This is such a different experience than any other one I’ve had in this line of work. It felt so much deeper and personal. I can’t let my mind play tricks on me, though. He’ll have another girl in this room before another week passes. I’m just another sugar baby he can get off to and forget about. I keep the smile on my face despite the way I’m feeling, knowing I need the money and I can’t screw this up by bringing up any sort of emotion.

He tosses the wash cloth into the bathroom trash before picking his shirt up from beside the bed and walking over to me.

“Uh, you can wear this.. if you want?” He says seeming unsure of himself.

“Oh, my original dress is in the drawer over there, that’ll probably look more normal than a big button up when I go back through the lobby,” I giggle and sit up, throwing my legs over the edge of the bed.

“I meant like.. if you wanted to stay a while? I don’t have anything comfier but I figured it’s better than a dress,” he trails off, shifting on his feet as he looks around the room.

Stay? I’ve never had any of these men clean me up before, let alone offer for me to stay.

“Y-yeah, sure. I mean, that sounds great! You don’t have anything else going on tonight?” I question, trying to gauge his reaction.

“No, nothing going on. I just..” he picks at the skin on his fingers before claiming a spot beside me on the bed and staring intently into my eyes.

“Did you feel it too? I’ve never felt that way with any of these hookups before. I feel like you get me. Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe I’m being a fucking idiot and reading too much into it. Let me get your check,” he says shaking his head and abruptly standing up.

I grab his hand and hop to my feet beside him, trying not to smile like a fool.

“No, no.. forget the check, Matt. I felt it too.”

He exhales a deep breath before gripping my face with both of his hands. “I want to get to know you properly, Y/n. I don’t want you to feel like I’m just using you.”

I press a kiss onto his lips and pull away smiling.

“Give me the damn shirt.”

[bioethicists]

hm i really hope that someone has said this better than me but the betterhelp ads (specifically the video ones, as the podcast ones tend to be less scripted) are such poignant examples of alienation + the role of 'go to therapy' in perpetuating that alienation. keep in mind that, if you personally found a therapist who is genuinely healing for you + that therapist happens to be through betterhelp- i'm genuinely happy for you + that experience does not invalidate anything i have to say below! (but jsyk they're trying to sell your shit to facebook lol)

starting strong w/ the fact that betterhelp is essentially the uber of therapy (aka using an independent contractor model which is harmful + predatory towards its providers), rushing in to fill the market on largely uninsured and/or uninformed ppl who want the ease of a concierge system without the cost + lacks a meaningful supervision system (which led to one gay man being recommended a conversion therapist when he asked for someone to help with his identity struggles, btw!). smarter people than me have written about the ways in which these trendy independent contractor apps strip people of labor rights, fail to provide adequate wages, + in the case of healthcare apps, increase digital surveillance + decrease accountability demanded from providers while exploiting the failure of the US healthcare system in order to churn a profit w/o actually creating sustainable, equitable change.

the betterhelp video ads all circle around a theme- a millennial starts talking about some form of emotional pain or worry, usually relatively standard existential worries ("do you ever think nothing has meaning?") or life worries ("i hate my job" "i think i'm gay"). their friends or the ppl around them respond blankly + coldly, looking at them like they're crazy. while i understand these ads are supposed to be tongue in cheek, they demonstrate the crushing reality of our alienation from one another- the solution to your friends responding to your evident pain with confusion + apathy is to confine that pain to a therapy session! nobody wants to hear your struggles or understands them- come generate profits for us by facetiming a newly graduated 24 year old who can barely make rent!

this theme fits well with what already put me off about betterhelp's marketing- their goal has never been to provide access to therapy for those who want it or to altruistically fill in some healthcare gap. their goal, bolstered by the rise in emotional suffering following, you know, the worldwide pandemic, is to generate + increase demand for therapy as a commodity. their earlier podcast ads focused on convincing others that therapy "isn't just for crazy ppl" + "everyone should be in therapy". regardless of if you personally agree with that statement, it should be evident that this is a blatant marketing tactic in which therapy is a commodity to be peddled, not an offer of support or healing. in fact, they're probably actively shying away from treating "crazy people", bcuz their flimsy support systems could not possibly handle an influx of ppl regularly in crisis or experiencing breaks with a common reality. their target audience is your average millennial under late capitalism + post COVID - anxious, lonely, vaguely depressed, unhappy with their jobs, worried + hopeless about their futures.

i'm not here to tell anyone not to get therapy. that's a personal decision + is none of my fucking business. it's about questioning the total alienation we feel from one another, such that pouring our heart our unexpectedly to a friend + being met with a blank stare is framed as "haha you need therapy" + not "it's crushing that this is how distant we are from one another". it's about a company noticing that (unfortunately very real) distance + fear of vulnerability + using that to direct our emotions into the confines of a business transaction under abusive labor conditions. it's about a world in which we are not engaging with one another emotionally (despite, or i guess bcuz of: widespread suffering, recent mass death, class warfare/untenable working conditions, increased pressure of fascist politics, generational trauma + abuse, etc etc). commodifying therapy isn't going to make that loneliness go away- it's going to normalize it.

[selarina]

Behind Closed Masks

→ Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Summary: Amidst a looming threat to Yuuji’s life, you're all holed up at Shoko's house for safety. It's the practical choice for him, to be surrounded by Jujutsu Society's strongest. Alternatives are in the works, but for now, as you’re all holed up in Shoko's place, events begin to unfurl with Gojo Satoru in the centre of it all.

Content Warnings: friends with benefits, fluff, angst, unrequited feelings, canon divergence because getou is here and mentally well, mention of smoking, mention of violence, mention of harassment, exhibitionism-ish, oral sex (f!receiving) MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.8k words

Author's Note: Ngl I kinda hate this but enjoy :) Might be kinda ooc

Read on AO3

Satoru Gojo, the receiver of one too many love letters, the rejector of one too many confessions was obviously coined to be every girl’s boy, and inadvertently, as the lady's man.

But truth be laid bare, Satoru never truly had the time, not for women or men. He only truly had time for his intimate circle of friends who luckily had managed to penetrate through all of the layers of façade.

But it's off season, he’s on a low stakes mission and there’s not many curses to kill and he's bored. He’s been bored for a while now and since Yujji had been buzzing at his ear like a mosquito, he decides that maybe he should undertake the mantle he had been anointed with for years.

So, he downloads tinder, albeit his reluctance. Because surely, there were more dignified avenues into hookup culture? But who was he to argue with Suguru, a man who actually lives up to the reputation expectation — hailed as everyone's resident fuckboy.

It's not surprising by any means at all, but there's swell of pride that blooms in him with each illuminating "It's a Match!" notification on his screen. He's not expecting to do much from here, at least — not today. He only downloaded this app to appease Yujji after all.

However, at your entrance into the living room, with your barrage of bags upon bags, he finds himself hastily pocketing his phone — a bit too swiftly than he should have. 

He notices Suguru's discerning eyes staring at him, at his move, but Satoru, ever the consummate performer, simply offers him a genial smile and redirects his gaze back at you — this very angry version of you. 

You're staring at the lot of them — dead in their faces, almost like you're planning to squint your way through to a create a hole in their faces.

"What's with the frown? It doesn't suit you, pretty." He rose from his seat, a beat behind the swift advances of Suguru and Yujji, both of whom had promptly positioned themselves at your side. 

Yuuji relieved you of your bags as he took half the weight off, while Suguru merely extended his help in the form of a box of raspberry juice.

"What's with the frown?!" Yuuji asks.

You stop, taking a long sip of the juice, before you start talking again, "I told you guys to come with me. You didn't want to. The least you could do was pick me up when you agreed to. But no! I was out there, in the middle of no where, trying to get a fucking Uber. And then the Uber driver started hitting on me. And he was so creepy about it too. This is why I hate ubering by the w—"

"Is he still outside?" Satoru's voice cuts through, abruptly altering into a tone of sobriety.

"I don't know. But I want to punch something, maybe we should practice today, Suguru."

You looked up to see him, wanting to see if he agreed with you. But Suguru had disappeared. You turned around, searching the room with your eyes, but there was no sign of him. He wasn't there anymore. The room remained still with only four of you giving it company.

Then, a distant sound, the rumble of an argument spewing its way from outside, reached your ears inside the living room. The four of you are quick to move, swivelling your way through to the point of discord. 

Yet, upon arrival, you only catch the diminishing silhouette of the Uber vehicle taking its departure from Shoko's compound. And then, your eyes catch Suguru, arms akimbo, as he looked down at the concrete, uttering an expletive.

"Aww, now I feel better already," you quipped, making your way to hug an annoyed-looking Suguru.

He melted, as one naturally does at the touch of another. Albeit, it may be through reluctance, but his hands don't show it as they come up to gently pull you closer into his chest. He knows you need this more than he does. 

"Sorry for not picking you up," he murmurs.

Drawing back slightly, you said, "Well, you going up to fight him makes up for it, I guess."

"Wow," Shoko interjected with an incredulous laugh. "You want us to resort to violence?" 

"Well, obviously not. But you would if I asked you, right?" you contended with a smile, fixing your gaze on Suguru.

"Absolutely not," Shoko voice comes out swift and emphatic, a declaration that's seconded by Suguru's shrug of indifference.

Satoru, however, interposed with a grin, speaks up, "I would fight anyone for you." 

You look at him, your eyes assessing him from hair to shoes. "Really?" you said, your tone clearly coloured by amusement.

At that, Satoru's eyes squint in annoyance, "I would, and in case you've forgotten, I am the strongest one here?"

"I mean, sure when we were teenagers. That's different, you're kinda wimpy looking now."

You don't actually believe that, you'd be a fool to believe that. Truth be told, he's likely the first person you would instinctively turn towards if you found yourself in any trouble. You're just teasing because you find his attempts at acting annoyed and angry all too endearing, and it's nice — the way he's fighting to fight for you.

Satoru feigns a dramatic sigh, hand pressed against his heart. "Wow," he remarks. "Here I was, prepared to face dragons in your honour, and all I get is this indignation."

"Alright, both of you drama queens can continue you the play for us," Shoko's hands come up to push the two of you inside the house. "As we make dinner," she continues. "I'm fucking starving."

—

Dinner unfolded in its familiar routine. Suguru's standing behind the counter, his hands moving with a practiced grace as his swished through the vegetables. You make your way from sitting on one counter to the other, munching on cut vegetables and cheese alike. 

Satoru flitted between scenes, briefly checking on the TV and Yuuji in the living room and then joining you and Suguru in the kitchen. Shoko, on the other hand, was for a smoke as she often is — you wonder if that's just her way of taking the time she needs away from the group. 

And as the night deepens, you all sit down to eat together beneath the glow of Shoko's yellow lights — you savour each bit as you try to extend the night, not wanting it to end yet. But eventually, the plates were clear, and all of you share the task of washing and cleaning up into the night.

When it came time to rest, sleeping arrangements fell into its usual place. Satoru found his place on the couch, while Suguru occupied the other one. Yuuji chose the floor, favouring it over the couch or the bed. And Shoko's retired to the comforts of her own familiar bed. She deserved as much for tolerating the lot of you, she said.

You, on the other hand, spoiled as you often are, you sleep in the guest room, all alone. 

But on a night like this you know you're not going to be alone, not when all the warning signs were laid out — the incessant touches on your waist as he moved, the soft smile, the stares — it was all a bit too apparent than usual. 

So, when you hear the door creak open gently you're not surprised, and when Satoru patters in with softly laid footsteps you're not surprised. "Hey," his voice whispered its way to you.

In response to his whispered greeting, you softly murmur, "Hey."

Satoru settled onto the bed beside you, making himself comfortable as he placed his phone on the table beside the bed. 

A knowing smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you reach out to him, draping your arms gently around his neck. With a deliberate and unhurried motion, you shift your position, sitting up and moving to straddle him, your legs finding their place on either side of his hips.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his thumb coming up to graze the edge of your lip. His tone was neutral, but his eyes they peer into your eyes, so intently, it almost makes you feel bare. 

Your fingers play at the short hair that remains at the nape of his neck, a feather-light touch eliciting a faint shiver from him, but he maintains his gaze at you.

"I'm okay?" you respond, a hint of confusion in your voice.

"The Uber guy—"

Recognition dawns upon you, and you chuckle softly "Ah, that. Yeah," you pause, considering your response after. "That's normal. I mean, it's not but yeah, I'm okay don't worry. Used to this really."

His gaze softens, "I can find him right now, teach him a lesson if you want," his thumb continuing its absentminded caress along your lip.

You give him a small, appreciative smile, your fingers continuing their gentle dance on his nape. "No need for all that, stupid," you reply, "It's really fine. I didn't think twice about it." You let out a chuckle. "Well, maybe twice but not more than that."

"How long are you staying for?" Satoru's question shifts the mood.

"I'm leaving in two weeks, around the same time as now," you finally share. 

His gaze flickers, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "You?" you inquire, but you don't truly want to know, you'd rather you just all stay here for a month, or two.

He hesitates for a moment, his fingers tracing patterns on your waist. "Not sure yet," he admits. "Could be around a month. Haven't finalised the details."

"That's good to hear," you murmur softly. "I mean, you've been up to a lot lately. Must be nice to be back home."

"Yeah, I miss food," he frowns.

A few beats pass, as you sit there in silence.

"Wish you could stay longer," he says, his voice coming out a bit too vulnerable than you're usually used to because it's jarring, it's starting to sound like a confession you know you'll never get. 

"Yeah?" you ask, swallowing. "Why?"

He stares and you stare back, there's a moment, for a silly little moment during the fragile second suspended between you two, you think he's going to say something real. But then, with a shift, his hands reposition their grip around your legs that are wrapped around his hips, and he pulls, guiding you to fall back onto the softness of your pillow.

Your heart pounds, the abrupt change of position leaving you two separated before on top of you, as he moves his face to your neck.

"To do this,” he speaks, and his words are ticklish against the side of your neck. His knee quickly moves to lodge itself between your legs, hovering but not fully pushing. 

"Satoru—"

He continues to map his way down to your neck as his hand slid along your thigh. Your legs come to wrap around his waist, as it usually does and his hips pressing firmly into yours to pin you into the bed.

Your fingers come up to his hair, tugging on his roots as he continued his ministrations around around your neck, as he continued leaving a hickey. “Aw! I’ve missed you too—” Your breathy confession ends up in a gasp, as he bites particularly too hard.

"Sorry," he says but he doesn't really look sorry.

You know he's not sorry because he moves almost immediately to yank his shirt from over his head. 

"Maybe we shouldn't," you voice as he lays his palms on your knees, smirking in satisfaction at the way you were already spreading your legs for him to settle in between, even as your words professed otherwise.

"Why not?" He asks, as he bends down to tug on your shorts as you help me by shimming your way out.

"Well, Yuuji and Suguru are literally a door away and well, we're at Iwa's place—"

Pushing the hem of your t-shirt up to your stomach, he brought his head between your legs. “Is it because you like him, you—“

“What?” He pauses, and you couldn’t help but sound a little annoyed, because this is odd. In all your times together, he never brought this up. In all your many years of friendship, he never brought this up. "What?" your tone softening as you repeat.

A palpable beat of silence lingers between you two.

Satoru lets out a sigh, the tension in his voice giving way to weariness. "I don't know, I was just wondering."

"About what, exactly?" you inquire.

"I don't know," he responds, a touch of frustration tinging his tone. "Do you like him? Suguru?"

"Like Suguru...?" you spoke, baffled. "Of course, I don't. You'd be the first to know if I did."

"Why's that?" His question hangs in the air.

A soft, incredulous chuckle escapes your lips. "Well, you're kind of my best friend, aren't you?"

He doesn't speak up, merely nodding before you push his head down between you thighs. He complies, his mouth moving to suck bruises on the inner part of your thigh as he hooks his fingers around the side of your underwear.

He pushes your underwear down your legs and you help him by kicking it off. His hands then movie to push down your thighs to the bed, leaving you bare in a way that leaves you abashed. 

He runs his tongue across his lower lip, Satoru didn’t start slow and he was nowhere near as gentle as he usually is, but you figure the aspect of your friends right outside your door might have spurred him on to go quicker. 

He didn't leave a little kiss as he usually did, nor were there any tentative licks, he just straight up latched his mouth against your cunt, spreading your legs apart until you were as exposed as you could be so his tongue could reach deep inside you.

“Fuck—” Your hand immediately went back to his head, curling your fingers around his soft locks. You aren't sure if you were pushing him closer, or pushing him away.

You moaned softly, still concious of your precarious state in a friend's house as a guest. You bucked against him as his tongue flicked over you. 

“Oh, God—” His slick muscle pressed flat against your folds, drawing designs across your sensitive skin. He went up and down, up and down, again and again, and again — he only momentarily stopped to pay attention to your clit, sucking until your thighs began to slowly tremble. 

“Satoru, Satoru, fuck wait—” Your breathing hitches.

Satoru had always been good with his hands but that was nothing compared to what his mouth and tongue could do. He was so good at this that you could barely form any other reactions and you were getting progressively scared as you started to get louder and less in control of yourself.

His gaze, hooded and fixed on your face, holds a glimmer of need as he spoke, "What's wrong?"

"They'll hear us," you murmur softly, a hint of caution in your voice.

"It's fine," he responded, with a smile, as he dove back in.

"What— No, it's not okay," you protested.

But he didn't relent, he continued on and on and on until your legs began to tremble. He savoured your taste and you felt the vibration of his muffled voice reverberates directly against your skin. “You’re gonna come for me, baby?"

And at the sound of that, you do. 

"Fuck— You're so annoying sometimes," you exclaim, sitting up from where you had been lounging against your pillow, your breath slightly uneven.

Seated now, you deliver a playful slap to his shoulder. "Ow— Is that any way to treat the man who just gave you an orgasm?" he quipped as he rubbed his shoulders to soothe your assault.

Your initial impulse is to give him a mock scowl, maybe even playfully shove him down to show him what you would do to a man who just made you come. But then, his phone buzzes.

Your eyes instinctively dart to the side, and just as swiftly, Satoru moves to turn off the glowing screen. However, his speed isn't enough to prevent you from catching a glimpse of the display, not enough to discern the specifics, but enough to stir, well... something.

"You're on Tinder?" The question slips from your lips before you can catch it.

"Uh—" Satoru's expression shifts, a mix of embarrassment and guilt colouring his features. "Yeah, Yuuji kinda forced me to do it."

"Forced you into it?" Your curiosity deepens, your voice coming out incredulous.

"Yeah," he says, plainly.

"How does someone force you into downloading and signing up for a whole app?"

He wants to explain, but really he's not sure what he can or should say, so he merely asks what lingers in his mind. "What's the big deal?"

"Nothing," you concede. It's true, it's nothing. Plus, you've been part of the club after all. You know how this goes.

You repeat the mantra in your mind—it's all just nothing. Meaningless and not real. But despite your efforts to convince yourself, a twinge of unease stirs within you. Sensing the potential weight of those unspoken thoughts, you quickly shift your focus, grabbing your underwear as a way to distract yourself from the festering emotions that boil right below the surface.

"What? Wow — No head?" he muses.

"I'm just too tired today," you reply, the weariness in your voice matching the fatigue that weighs you down - as though your words have spoken your exhaustion into fruition.

As the night stretches on, you lie in the dimness of the guest room, ensnared in a ceaseless loop of replaying the day's events. It's as though you're stuck with a malfunctioning record that refuses to stop. So, you shift and you shift in your bed, and you're suddenly overcome by an uncomfortable heat.

Truth be told, your heart ached not just from the events of this day, but from years and years of unspoken words.

Your closeness to Satoru, a social man who's cautious about who he allows into his life, can be traced back to a confession you made. 

Dumb and in love, back when you were 17, you mustered the courage to reveal your feelings for him. Naturally, he turned you down. You were expecting it, of course and were hoping that wish away the feeling you had for him. There's a strange solace in embracing the stages of heartbreak - your friends telling you stories about how a "Fuck him, I'm sad" phase quickly turns into a "Fuck him, I'm hot" phase.

But alas, fate had other plans. A friendship sprouted instead.

You presented yourself as having moved beyond your emotions, and at times, it felt real. But then he would do small and ostensibly insignificant acts, as one does for a friend – brushing a speck of grass from your hair, surprising you with your favourite beverage, reminding you to carry an umbrella – and they just made fall deeper into the well.

That wretched well.

After a while, of jostling in bed, you couldn't stand the heat and the suffocating weight of all these thoughts. Quietly, you slipped out of the bed, carefully making your way out of the room. The living room was dimly lit, but you could still see where Satoru lay sprawled awkwardly, half on the couch, half on the floor. While Yujji and Suguru slumbered soundly, the former clutching a throw pillow.

The soft glow of a lamp casting your shadow across the room as you opened the balcony door and settled onto the swing outside.

A floorboard's creak drew your attention, your gaze turning to the living room. And that's when saw Shoko standing there, her figure outlined by the soft light. He seemed surprised to find you awake, her expression a mix of concern and contemplation.

"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked, as she made her way next to you, shutting the balcony door. Her voice carrying a hint of weariness. Perhaps, he was asleep.

You shook your head, not trusting your voice to respond. There was a heaviness in your chest that you couldn't put into words.

She settled beside you in silence, letting moments pass before he spoke. A sigh escaped her, "I'm sorry for not picking you up earlier. It might not seem like a big deal, but I should have showed."

You looked at her, her profile illuminated by the soft light from the moon. "It's really not a big deal." Your hand found its way to her arm, a gesture of reassurance.

You think about how kind Shoko really is as a person. It's not often you find someone like her. I mean, sure Satoru is nice to you but he can often be petty, arrogant and hurtful, even if he may not want to be these things, Shoko, on the other hand, was deliberate with her words, at least around you. It makes you feel loved in a way you have always needed.

Your mind drifted to a specific memory – the last prom. You were clad in a soft shade of purple, and you felt hopeful. Despite going with Shoko, the presence of Satoru, now a friend, lent a certain optimism. Yet, she had snapped at you, in hushed tone though as she did not want his date hearing him, she wanted you to give him and his date space. 

It wasn't his fault really, you were lingering in their space after all but you made your way through, seeming as normal as you could, taking some punch in a cup, finding your seat almost working in auto-pilot mode, and after awhile you felt her come sit beside you. Shoko. 

She sat beside you in silence for a bit and then she spoke, standing up and offering her hand up for you to take. 

"May I have this dance?" she asked.

"I'm tired, Shoko," you responded, dejectedly.

"Come on," she implored, meeting your eyes. "Let me have the honor of sharing your very last prom dance."

With a sigh, you accepted her hand, rising from your seat. Turning away from the amorous couple, you focused on Shoko as she led you into a waltz. 

In that moment, you thought you couldn't have asked for a better date.

Soon, you noticed Shoko gradually dozing off beside you. It didn't take long, and with a gentle nudge, you roused her from her slumber.

"You should get some rest," you suggested, your voice a soothing caress.

"Alright," she agreed, a plain weariness in her tone. Rising, she paused before leaving. You think maybe today's the day she would finally ask you about it.

"You know," she began. "You can always talk to me, right?"

A nod was your response. 

She leaned in to press a kiss on your forehead. With that, she turned and made her way to her room.

A sense of lightness enveloped you, the fatigue gradually returning to your bones. Retracing your steps to the guest room, you knew sleep would find you.

[modelbus]

Hi! I absolutely loved the touch starved reader tommy fic and was hoping to request Tommy x reader(fem or gn, whatever ur comfortable with!)who’s an American streamer/yter and they’re doing long distance and haven’t seen each other in a while, so they decide to surprise him and visit him in the uk? Love your fics, have a great day! 🩷

Guess who’s been talking to someone recently :))

Pairing: Cc!Tommyinnit x Gn!Reader

Secret Surprises

“Right guys, now I just have to find my way through this maze of an airport.” You say to your camera, panning it around to show the crowds filling the London airport.

Visiting Tommy, your boyfriend, was always difficult, even if you loved him enough for it to be worth it. The long flight from America to England tended to be turbulence-filled, and the London airport was hell on Earth. Yet you’d still do it every single time.

Someone bumps into you, nearly knocking the camera out of your hands. You curse, fumbling with it before managing to pull it close to your chest. The stranger gives the camera a weird look, but you know by now to ignore the odd looks you get.

“And get an Uber.” You add, already pulling up the app because that seems like the most pressing thing. And you sure as hell weren’t going to try and figure out which side of the road to drive on: you fucked it up once and Tommy never let you live it down.

Luckily, a driver connects with you immediately, leaving you to follow the flow of people to the exit. You get pushed out into a busy road, wind ruffling your hair around.

The good thing about Ubers is that they’re familiar. Worldwide. And that drivers keep their mouths shut when you climb in with a vlog camera and a crazed look in your eye.

Your driver eyes you, then gives a short nod, as if to say, “Airports, am I right?”

You nod back, silently agreeing. Fuck airports, and fuck your love for Tommy that’s making you go through them.

”I’d give you guys a car montage, but doxxing him isn’t on the to-do list, so let’s pretend I’m doing a super cool transition.” You tell the camera, laughing and pausing your recording.

You double check your phone, making sure Tubbo has him stuck at the agreed upon location. It’s just a little arcade near his flat, somewhere he took you last time that you both loved. The perfect place for a little surprise.

Although it’s Tommy, although you know he’ll be happy to see you, your knee bounces against your will. You had planned this perfectly, but what if he changed his schedule and you didn’t know? Not that you’d mind watching him record, but you had bought tickets to a movie the two of you were planning to watch together over discord, among other things.

“This where you need to be?” The driver asks some time later, squinting at the little arcade. Your suitcases are still with you, so he’s probably judging you like crazy, but he’s definitely seen crazier things than you.

“Yup, thank you so much!” You exclaim, ungracefully clambering out of the car after sending a text to Tubbo. In return, the driver grunts at you and drives off. Ah, Uber driver hospitality.

Nothing else like it.

You flip on your camera, zooming in on the arcade doors. “Will we see an elusive Tommyinnit in the wild? Yes, because I orchestrated it, but oooh, mystery.” You whisper, lugging your suitcase behind you. It’s a fairly empty arcade so you don’t have to worry about more weird looks.

After a moments debate, you tuck the thing behind a dance machine—fucking hate those things—and set off for the prize counter where Tubbo promised they’d be.

Over the atrocious lime green carpet, past the bright and loud games. You can’t help eying one of those key games to scope out the prizes although you’ll never play it. You’re stupid, but not that stupid.

A light flickers above you (clearly a good sign), and you step around a racing simulator to see the prize counter. Ropes creating a line up to a glass counter that holds small prizes and shelves that hold larger prizes, you can’t help but grin.

And then your sights land on two familiar figures, and suddenly you’re beaming. You’re here, they’re here, Tommy’s really right there. For a second you just observe, zooming in with your camera and propping it on the racing game for a decent angle.

Even if the footage sucks, you wouldn’t mind. Not with him right there.

“But it’s a jet, Tubbo! Look at it!” Tommy is saying, holding a toy jet up to Tubbo’s camera. So that’s how Tubbo lured him here: a vlog. Ironic.

“But there’s better prizes, Tom. We could pool our tickets for that huge panda!” Tubbo insists, pointing at a large stuffed panda on the shelf. The worker behind the counter gives them a bored look, popping her gum.

“But a jet!”

You quickly make your way up behind Tommy, trying to stay silent.

“You aren’t— listen! We can— we can pool our tickets, and get a cool prize—“ Tubbo is frantically explaining, catching your eye past Tommy’s shoulder.

“I vote for the panda.” You say casually, pointing at the thing.

In front of you, Tommy freezes before whipping around with a stunned expression. “Wha—?”

“Panda.” You repeat patiently, grinning at him.

Tommy throws his game card at Tubbo, practically tackling you in a hug. You laugh as he suffocates you, stumbling backwards into the rope with him.

He’s real under your hands, something tangible that you adore more than anything else. Something solid and true and real and yours. You squeeze him back, arms around his middle.

“How the fuck are you here?” Tommy asks you, tugging you impossibly closer for a chaste kiss. “How the fuck did you keep this secret with your big mouth?”

You slap his arm lightly, laughing loudly. “My mouth isn’t that big, dumbass. Tubbo and I planned this entire thing, didn’t we?”

“Yeah! You had no idea!” Tubbo chimes in. He’s got his camera out, pointed at you and Tommy, for which you send him a thankful smile.

“When did you get here? You’re staying with me, right?” Tommy asks you, a stupid grin that you love on his face. You’re sure there’s a matching one on your face.

“If you’ll let me.” You confirm, letting him wrap his hand around yours. “I also bought tickets to that one movie for tomorrow. I think. The website was really weird about my American card.”

Tommy laughs, and you live in the sound that isn’t diluted by thousands of miles and technology.

“And we have to grab my suitcase.” You add on, because if you forgot it you might die. Along with your camera.

“Your suitcase?” He echoes.

“…It might be behind one of those stupid fucking dance games.”

Even though you’re prepared for his laughter this time, it still sweeps you away. Better than any British or American winds, better than the breeze outside. It sweeps you away like love.

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [42]

chapter forty-two, act five: the ballad of me and my brain

masterlist

November 3rd 2017

Tommie had woken up alone in Phoebe’s apartment, with many missed calls and texts of people asking if she was okay.

Her brows had furrowed and she’d hesitated to call Adam back first. He’d called her eleven times, and although they haven’t spoken since that day he came to the apartment she still worries something is wrong.

Her mind goes to her grandparents, but she spoke to her nan yesterday. They were on their way to a trip to Tenby in the caravan with the dog, they’re fine. Unless something happened on the trip. 

Nan can’t swim. Granch got sick. Or a heart attack, or an accident-

“Tom? Tom, thank god, are you still in LA-?”

It’s then she realises how late into the LA afternoon it is, her clock reads one o’clock and she realises she’d probably been up way longer than she should’ve been writing away until her heart's content (until she passed out from exhaustion).

“What’s going on?”

“Matty’s missing.”

This is the first time she’s heard his name in months, and her heart stops.

She sits up straighter, both Button and Max looking up at her in question. “What?”

“We tried to stage an intervention, shit-” She hears him sigh, can hear Ross and George arguing in the background with another voice that sounds a lot like Jamie, “He took off, a few days ago, he’s been doing it alot lately, he’s never been gone this long.”

“Where are you?”

“San Jose.”

She sighs and climbs out of bed, putting her phone on speaker and setting it on the bedside table. She grabs a pair of jeans from the chair she’d thrown them onto last night, getting a random t-shirt and throwing it on quickly, not even bothering with the effort of finding a bra. She does however, go to the effort of saying goodbye to the two dogs before shoving on her shoes, grabbing her bag that holds her essentials (keys, wallet, journal, lip balm, cigs, lighter and some other unnecessary shit.).

“I’ll come meet you, you in the place we stayed in last time?”

“No, we’re in the fancy one across the road you liked the look of.” She hears more arguing, and then a door slams, “It’s seven hours, Tommie, you- stay in LA, I just- has he tried calling you?”

“No, no he hasn’t. I haven’t talked to him since TRNSMT.”

Adam sighs, “He’s not himself, Tommie, I don’t know what’s going on with him. He’s in his own head, doing so many fucking drugs, Tom, I-” He sighs, she hears a sob-like sound get stuck in his throat, “We’re trying but he’s not listening, saying he needs to clear his head-”

Suddenly it dawns on Tommie and she pauses halfway down the steps outside of her building, “What has he said?” She asks quickly, fumbling to get the Uber app up as she walks down the street, “Tell me exactly what he said before he left, Ads.”

Adam sighs, stutters a few times as he tries to remember the conversation he had with Matty five days prior, “Um, something about the drugs helping him sleep, clearing his mind, helping him write and create, said that the drugs are his muse or some philosophical shit. I-I don’t know, Tommie.”

She watches her Uber pull up and puts the phone to ear, “Ads, I’ll call you back, don’t worry alright.”

“Tom, please don’t-”

“Don’t worry.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

The studio is a mess, clothes thrown over floors, crumpled up pieces of paper, cans of beer, coke and all different kinds of things ruin her path to the booth.

There’s a drum beat on loop, it's so loud she can hear it through the headphones and it almost drowns sounds of snoring from the curly haired musician.

He’s half on the settee half off, wearing only a pair of boxers and a large hoodie of their own band.

Tommie pushes her way through the mess on the floor that her hands shake to clean, she satisfies the urge for her hands to move by moving her foot to kick at Matty's side.

When he doesn’t wake she hits him harder and he gasps, curling over on himself, “Ow.”

“Get up.”

His eyes snap open at the voice and he sits up, fumbling to pull the hoodie down to cover himself and she rolls her eyes, “What are you doing?”

“Making music.”

She looks around, “Looks like it.”

She walks over to the mixing board and pauses the drum beat playing then looks back at him, “What are you doing, Matty?”

“Why don’t you call me Roddy anymore?”

She sighs and clenches her jaw, “You’re not my Roddy,” She tells him quietly, “I don’t know where he went, but… he’s been gone a while. I miss him, If you see him- if you see him, will you let him know?”

Matty rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, “What are you doing here?”

“The guys are worried, so worried that they actually mentioned your name to me, which, I’m gonna be honest, I haven't heard since Scotland.”

“Bet you loved that.”

“I did, actually.”

He scoffs, eyeing her up and down, she crosses her arms and leans back against the desk behind her.

“What are you doing here, Tommie?”

“I care about you, Ma-”

He scoffs again harsher this time and stands up, “Don’t make me laugh, you’re the one who walked out on us all, remember? Back in July, picked up your guitar and ran off to LA like it meant nothing.”

“I- what did you expect me to do, Matty?” She asks, keeping her voice on a lower level despite his shouting a few minutes prior. “Did you expect me to sit beside you and hold your hand as you killed yourself I-”

She shakes her head and looks away, “You left us. Not just me, you left-”

“Just because I left doesn’t mean I don’t still love you.”

He pauses, mouth open as he was preparing to shout something else. Tommie sighs, hands coming up to cover her face for a few seconds. Too many seconds, although he counts his head, he reaches twelve, he still thinks it's too long for her to hide away from him.

“I’ll always love you, Matt.” She promises, she avoids looking at him and he takes a few more steps forward to get closer to her, “I love you too much to sit by and watch you do this to yourself-”

“So you left me? Made it worse-”

“You won’t listen!” She moves her hands away from her face to shove his chest. He moves back to arms length then. Just watching her.

She shakes her head, finally raising her voice, “You won’t listen to any of us, to me, G, Ads, Ross, your own mother who’s gone through the same thing, we’re all worried about you.”

“I’m fine-”

“No you’re not.” She tells him, “Look at yourself,” Despite his better judgement he lets his eyes glace to his reflection in the dark tinted window behind her, “You’re a fucking mess, Matty, and quite frankly it’s fucking pathetic.”

He lifts his head, looking at her down his nose, “Half the time you can’t string a sentence together, you’re passing out on stage, lashing out at everyone, you’re a mess, Matthew.”

His jaw quivers as he tries to keep his composure, “You’re so- so god damn stubborn, and blind. Look around, Matt, you have so many people here trying to help you, trying to love you and you just won’t let them. Why, because you’re scared?”

“You don’t know anything about-”

“Quite the opposite, “She bites back, “I know you, Matty, I know everything about you. I know everything about my Matty.”

She steps to him this time, lifting one hand ready to hold him, “Are you scared, Matty?”

He looks to the small coffee table in the studio, one they'd spent many nights gathered around with pizza boxes listening to music and telling jokes. On the table sits a joint, beside it empty packets that she doesn’t even want to know are inside of it.

“I’m not-”

“Matt.”

‘You’re in love with her but you’re afraid a guy like you will ruin her. And you will.’

He nods quickly, letting the tears welling in his eyes linger a little longer, “I’m afraid, Tom.”

“Of what?”

He shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath; neither of them can understand, “Of what?”

She shakes her head and walks closer to him but he fights her off, not letting her touch him, “I-”

“Matt-”

She watches his eyes dart to the door as he licks his lips, “I’ve got a flight.”

“Matt-”

“Tomorrow, I need to pack all my stuff.”

“Matty, please, just slow-”

He nods to himself as he gathers the only thing he brought with him, a little tote bag, her little tote bag. One from the record shop she likes in London. He shoves inside his wallet, phone, charger and notebook then starts stumbling around until he finds his jeans and shoes.

“Matty, would you please-”

“I’ve got to go-”

“Matty,” She huffs, trying to follow him around but his longer legs are moving too fast, closing up his laptop, stopping the demo, throwing the stupid memory stick with the song he was working on into the mess around them, “Matt, please, just stop for a couple seconds- Let’s talk-”

“Nothing to talk about, I have to go, seven hours to San Jose-”

“Matt!”

He still doesn't listen so she pauses as he opens up the door, “I broke up with Caleb.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

“Why’d you break up?”

Tommie watches him dip his fries into the red sauce and then shove them into his mouth as if he hasn't eaten for years.

She sighs and looks down at the table in the little diner they’re sitting at, she picks at the table cloth beneath them and leans back.

“Creative differences.”

He snorts and she finds her lips curling a little bit into a smile.

“Seriously?”

He shakes his head a little, “I always hated him, I mean, not just because of the whole you thing, but because he was a raging arsehole-twat-prick dude.”

She nods her head in thought, “I mean, he hated Deftones, you love Deftones, if I hated them- hell, if I uttered a single bad word about them you'd break my neck- literally! I can’t believe you didn’t break up with him over that. And one major thing you should’ve ran from was his love of country music, I mean, If I heard Jesus take the whe-”

“He got me pregnant.”

Matty pauses, fry mid air, mouth open ready to bite down on it, instead his gaze is settled right on her, missing the ketchup dripping down to stain the white table cloth on the table.

“What?” He looks down towards her stomach slowly and she shifts uncomfortably covering herself with her arms, “You’re pregnant?”

“I had an abortion, few weeks ago, that’s why I’m out here, Matt.”

“What did he-”

“He told me I had no right because it was his baby too, and threatened to tell the press.”

“Did he? I mean, I haven’t seen anything but-”

She shakes her head “I told him if he did that then I’d make sure his band never made it. Then I kicked him out of the apartment, cut my lease short and moved in with Phoebe.”

He hums in thought, picking at the table cloth.  

“I was so scared, Matt. I’m terrified of the thought of having children, of ruining my career, my life, not because I’m not as strong as other women or anything like that, or I won’t be able to do that. Because I just don’t want that-”

She breaths in slowly and tilts her head at him, “I wanted my Matty. Phoebe told me I asked for you, when I was out of it. Said I asked her to go get you for me.”

He looks down, staring at the heart shaped hole he’s ripped into the dining table cloth. “I was terrified of doing it without you. What were you scared of?”

He scoffs and shakes his head, “Matty, please-”

“Did you tell me that just to try and get me to open up?”

“Trade you.” She shrugs and leans over to steal a chip.

He sighs, “When Gemma broke up with me she told me some harsh truths, one’s that I needed to hear and I don’t know. I guess I just know deep down that she’s right. I don’t want to ruin you.”

She tilts her head, reaching across the table to set her hand on his, “You won’t ruin me, Matty.”

“I will. Cause you’re you, you’re a good person, Tommie. I don’t want to ruin you.’

“Matt-“

He shakes his head and stands, “I have to go. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Matt-“

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

She looks around the mess in the studio. Now that he’s gone, that he’s back on his way to the rest of the band she can let herself go nuts and clean it.

She starts by cleaning up the takeaway boxes from the floor, then she folds the blankets and cleans the messy table.

Half way through cleaning up she finds the discarded memory stick he’d tossed aside. There’s a post it note wrapped around being held there with cellotape.

‘Baby, two.’

She lifts up the memory stick and then slowly puts it into the computer. 

There's a small sniffle and then a sighs as he strums a few chords. "Baby, two. Um..." He sighs again and shifts around, the leather chair creaks but is cut off as he clears his throat, "This is my deepest confession, I guess. This is for Tommie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about a lot, that it took me so long to realise and that when I finally did I'd already pushed her out. But, I don't want to hurt her, I don't want to let her back in-" He sighs again, "Anyway, this is take one. Baby, I don't have a title yet."

I've been watching you walk I've been learning the way that you talk The back of your head is at the front of my mind Soon I'll crack it open just to see what's inside your mind … Inside your mind

Marry me, I will wait until you're fast asleep Dreaming things I have the right to see Lately you are dreaming you're in love with me The only option left, is look and see inside your mind

… Inside your mind I can show you the photographs Of you getting on with life I've had dreams where there's blood on you All of those dreams where you're my wife

Inside your mind Inside your mind Inside your mind Inside your mind

She raises her brow at the deep voice but sits there to take it for a few moments taking it in.

Every moment between her and Matty has ever shared floats through her head. From meeting to starting the band, to being on tour, to living together, to that night in LA, to watching him leave yesterday.

She thinks over every decision she’s ever made.

Being with Caleb, never telling Matty.

Maybe if she just told him, if she’d let him know how she really felt none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have turned to drugs, he’d be safe.

Or maybe he still would have. And they’d be unhappy. Together but unhappy. And they’d hate each other.

They must be good. She wonders. The drugs, there must be something about them. Why else would he love them so much? More than her, more than the band.

Before she can stop herself she’s sitting on the floor, eyes not moving from the baggie on the table as her fingers drum right beside it.

She just wants one look. One look inside Matty Healy’s mind.

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart, @indierockgirrl, @sofaritsalrightt, @julezs-bl0g, @eaglestar31, @sophinthealpss, @noacfemcel, @if-my-heart-bleeds, @befrwime, @fallingforel, @sexorchocolateorpillowsorclouds, @3terna15unshin3, @1975sophie1975, @thesocraticjunkiewannabe, @littlesoldierelleora, @procrastinatinglikeapro, @beatr2x, @byyourside28

-let me know if you want to be added :)

[thegainingdesk]

Lies

You've been lying to yourself for years.

Just a little winter weight. And when will you be losing that? It's June now, and the chub still pushes stubbornly over your belt. What will happen next winter, and your next batch of winter weight? And the next winter, and the next one?

You've done so well, following your diet. You probably deserve that treat. A couple of pints won't hurt. Diets are all fads anyway, you've got a balanced diet, that's what really matters.

You don't have a gut, per se, it's just the angle when you look down at your own body, like how no-one's dick ever looks quite so large from above. But then why do you look the same in the mirror? What about that picture, the one from your holiday, with a soft pillow of fat starting to creep out over your shorts?

Clothes are just made so cheaply these days, no wonder the crotch of your trousers have been wearing out quite so often. Fast fashion and all that. But didn't you splash out on this pair, get some proper ones in good fabric? And that pair there, haven't you only had them a month or two?

It's not noticeable, you tell yourself. But you see the looks, hear the comments. "Hasn't he put on weight?" "And he used to be so handsome." "He needs to put down the bloody fork is what he needs."

Just a bad photo, that one. It's all to do with focal lengths, and the right type of lens, you've never really understood it, but you read an article about it a while ago. She's always been rubbish at taking photos anyway, hasn't she? But then, no one else seems quite so bloated, quite so corpulent, quite so wide. And looking through more photos, you can't seem to find any that show you at your best.

The beard makes you handsome, more distinguished, more mature, it's quite trendy now anyway. It's not to hide the double chin, pooling down beneath your jawline. Isn't to mask the cheeks that can't even be called chubby anymore, no these are jowls now, sagging on each side of the face. Not to create some illusion of a jawline where your face has gotten puffier and puffier, rounder and rounder, softer and softer.

Everyone gains a little weight as they get older, don't they? But what about him? 10 years your senior and still as trim as ever. No one else your age that you know has a paunch quite so large, sides quite so soft.

Everyone gets winded on these stairs, don't they? Flight after flight, stupid to put the office there really. No one else takes 5 minutes to get to the top though. No one else is panting when they finally reach the top, hands on their knees and sweat dripping off their forehead.

300 pounds isn't even that big these days. Basically just above average at this point. The obesity epidemic, lockdown weight. You know plenty of bigger people, like… ah. Well maybe - no, he lost a lot of weight didn't he. What about- no, he mentioned his weight the other day, a good 30 pounds lighter than you. But you're sure there must be someone, who maybe you just haven't seen in a while.

You could stop whenever you want, could lose it all easily enough. Go on then. Sign up for a gym membership. Delete Uber Eats off your phone. Have a salad for dinner. But you don't. You won't. The draw of it is too much. Another 20 pounds, another 50. The feeling of a full stomach, a body imprisoned in fat, the constant expansion. It's becoming undeniable now, and yet still, you lie to yourself.

You're not really interested in that website, you're not one of those people, the other users just appreciate a man of your figure, which, you have to admit, is getting rarer amongst the regular dating apps. So what if some of the men want to see you eat when you meet up with them, you'd be eating anyway. So what if they play with the soft, supple fat all over your body while they fuck you, it's nice to be appreciated. So what if you like the feel of their hands exploring your body, the creamy lard rippling like velvet under their fingers. So what if you're finding it more difficult to cum without your face buried in a cake, a gut already full to bursting with rich food.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

The B.C. government will guarantee new employment rights for ride-hailing and delivery drivers, including a minimum wage and WorkSafeBC coverage, Labour Minister Harry Bains said Wednesday. But the changes fall short of what’s needed, say some labour advocates, and will create a new underclass of employee. Harry Bains announced the province is going to introduce minimum working standards for drivers on apps like Uber, Lyft and DoorDash. The regulations, once finalized, would guarantee workers a slate of rights they don’t currently have. It would also designate them as employees under the province’s Employment Standards Act, giving them the right to join a union. But Bains said the government would also exclude them from protections other workers have under the act, including paid sick leave and vacation time. It also does not include a benefits plan — something the BC NDP promised gig workers in its 2020 election campaign.

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada